


Appletini

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Series: Alcohol and Other Bad Decisions [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Typical Weirdness, Character Study, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, Loneliness, M/M, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Martin drinks.Peter joins him.





	Appletini

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd
> 
> and yes 90% of this premise is based on the assistant Q&A where alex said martin would walk into a bar and order an appletini, easy on the tini.

Martin likes Appletinis.  
  
He likes going to semi-proper bars and ordering a few different colorful cocktails and slowly working through them, and recently it's become more and more of a habit. Jon is galavanting off in America, Melanie is finally having her long-awaited emotional breakdown, Tim is busy working on a revenge plan, and Basira and Daisy are- Martin doesn't really know them that well anyway.  
  
He really didn't mean to start drinking as much as he did but the last few weeks, especially with Jon out of the country, have been rough. The letters from his mom have slowed down, and it's not like he wants to be needy and bother her with more than two or three a week.  
  
Additionally, it's not like he has good enough friends to take out with him to maybe curb the growing habit. He did talk to everyone in artifact storage and the library, but he didn't exactly know them well enough to shoehorn his way into their plans and even if he did do that, what was he going to talk about?  
  
His spiders had grown pretty well the last week, thanks for asking, and his mom was doing great, she recognized him for more than three minutes yesterday, significant progress, yeah, and hey, Elias only frowned at him twice in the past week so really, he's moving up in the world.  
  
So he goes to a bar to drink alone.  
  
It's sad, sure, but it's better than sitting at home and losing his mind. It's starting to get pretty bad, and he's pretty sure his new Cobalt Blue was telling him he should quit his job.  
  
Sure, she wasn't wrong, but Martin had to keep his pets fed somehow. And even if his spiders were being... incepted by The Web or whatever it was calling its self, they could have done a lot more damage then just biting him once in a while, from what he's read.  
  
He likes Appletinis the most, and by the time he sits on the neat spiny stools the bartender is already getting out the sweet and sour from behind the bar. Martin clears his throat and orders anyway, so he feels a little less uncomfortable from the whole strangers knowing his order situation he's caused himself.  
  
“Appletini, light on the tini.” He jokes, and the bartender gives him a pity laugh.  
  
That's about the best he can ask for nowadays.  
  
He didn't start with this bar, this one was the fourth, but it's definitely the best one, relatively clean, friendly atmosphere, excellent music. Sometimes a pretty girl would come and sing over a pretty guy playing the cello, and that was nice. The two different bartenders were friendly too.  
  
He had considered downloading a dating app and had actually gone through with it before remembering that he'd be stuck with the same lack of conversation, but this time there would also be the added social pressure of sex and that was just too much for him.  
  
He sits at the bar and stares at pet vendors on his phone because aside from the drinking, he's started relying on retail therapy and maybe it was unhealthy, and perhaps his apartment was starting to look like a cheap haunted house but if it made him happy it was worth it.  
  
It's not like the money is being spent anywhere else anyway.  
  
He's been eyeing the metallica for a week now. He's been on a blue kick lately. First, it was a greenbottle from a vendor in New Castle, then the cobalt from Stratford-upon-Avon of all places. At least the metallica was just an hour on the tube from his flat. That's not nearly as bad is it could be. That could be a fun thing to do on the weekend.  
  
He could probably ask off of work for a few hours, make a day of it.  
  
“That sounds like loads of fun.” Martin almost dropped his phone into his Appletini. “Is that an expensive hobby? Keeping- Spiders.”  
  
“M-Mr. Lukas- is- are you- sorry?” There's a bit of a chill that seems to accompany the man and just a hint of salt in the air. Martin shivers and inches away, as far as he can on a fixed barstool. “Uh- No? Not really? Are you here to kill me?”  
  
“It's Peter, Martin. We're friends, right? You can call me Peter.” There's a grin on his face that Martin worries about. “And I told you- at least I think it was you- probably was you- Elias would get so upset if I snatched up one of his kids. He's possessive like that.”  
  
“Kid- what?” Lukas- uh Peter- sure. Peter's in the same suit he was in a few days ago and it crinkles as he sits down on the stool closest to Martin. “You're not... going to kill me?”  
  
“No!” Lukas laughs and taps the bar. It takes the bartender longer to notice them than usual, and the man walks over slowly. “Stengah, quick as you like.” The bartender blinks before turning away without saying a word.  
  
“Stengah?”  
  
“Yes.” Lukas- Peter. Peter Lukas somehow manages to look down at him. “And what is that absolutely noxious concoction?”  
  
“Stengah's a drink? Uh- Appletini. Do you want to try-” He cuts himself off, and if he weren't in public, his head would be pressed through the counter already. The creep is probably a serial killer at the best of times. And at the worst of times-  
  
“Love to.” And then Martin is stuck watching Peter Lukas reach across the already tiny space he had to himself and pull the martini glass to his lips. “Oh that's- That's interesting. Interesting flavors.”  
  
“Are you-” Martin stops talking. Enough- don't engage and maybe he'll leave you alone.  
  
“Am I?” Peter drags the words out about as long as he possibly can before a scotch glass is set in front of him. Something brown and bubbling over ice.  
  
“Are you making fun of me?”  
  
“What- no? Should I be? I'll be more then happy too. Do you want to try mine? It's only fair?” Martin wants to shake his head because monster aside, he made it a personal rule not to drink anything brown in a bar. Or take drinks from strangers.  
  
“I guess?” He should really get his mouth sewn shut. Peter pushes the glass into Martin's hand and then Martin's stuck lifting it to his mouth.  
  
The tiniest sip possible leaves him coughing.  
  
“Stengah's just whiskey and soda.” Peter takes the glass back with a chuckle. “It was popular a while back, and not in this part of the world- I'm not surprised you don't have the palette for it.”  
  
“Bubbly water has always been bad.” Martin sticks his tongue out and downs the rest of his Appletini to get the flavor out of his mouth. “Void monster or not.”  
  
“Aw. Cute. Is that what you think I am?” He drinks his drink slowly and makes a show of enjoying the flavor.  
  
“N-No- sorry that was- really rude of me.” Must be the alcohol getting to him. His face feels warm, and he turns away from him. “D-Do you need something- ah- work? Related?”  
  
“I just happened to be in the right place in the right time to see you again, Martin Blackwood. Well- you drew me in like a magnet if I'm being honest.”  
  
“Excuse me?” There's only a tiny amount of indignation in his voice. He hopes its hidden.  
  
“You're so interesting. And such a- singular existence.”  
  
“Excuse me?” He asks again and doesn't bother hiding the indignation now. “Did- Did Elias put you up to this again?”  
  
“Hm- No. I'm serious. I mean, I could be serious even if he put me up to it, but I'm not here on his... suggestion.”  
  
“Right.” Martin desperately hopes his phone is going to buzz at some point and save him from this conversation, but it's not like anyone texts him. Or calls him. Even after the whole Prentiss thing, nothing's really changed.  
  
“See- that. How can I not be drawn to that? Being a- what did you call me? A void monster, was it?” Peter chuckles. “It's rolling off of you in waves, sunshine.”  
  
Martin actually looks around for a second before taking a deep breath and trying to order another drink from the bartender. The bartender is busy with other customers. Perfectly timed.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“Aw.” Peter sighs and finishes his drink. The bartender comes over then, not to Martin, of course not. “One more of each. You don't mind me buying  you a drink do you?”  
  
“I- I suppose not?”  Peter gives him another pleasant smile and pulls a wallet out. Martin notices all sorts of different bills and vaguely remembers Basira telling him that Lukas was a sea captain. “Do you need money?”  
  
“Only when I'm in bars with cute archival assistants.”  
  
If Martin's face warm before, it's definitely on fire now, and he spins the stool away as far as possible.  
  
“If you're just here to t-tease me then I'm sure we both have better things we can be doing.” He clears his throat as best he can without making even more of a mess of the situation then he already has.  
  
“Mm- that does sound like loads of fun but no- I'm not here just to bully you. I mean, unless that's what you're into. And I'd be more than happy to make you happy.”  
  
“Okay.” He says and turns his phone back on. “You can leave, you know, I'm perfectly fine being alone.”  
  
“Mm.” Peter downs his drink in one go and Martin can barely keep from gagging at the thought. “You're not alone though, are you, Martin? You're lonely.”  
  
“I-I'm not. I'm not lonely, I prefer being al- not surrounded by crowds alright? I'm an introvert- maybe you have those from where ever it is you're from but-”  
  
“No, No, you're not Getting it. You're so lonely your heart is in agony, right?”  
  
“I- Well- no- I don't know why I'm still talking to you- am- am I allowed to leave or-”  
  
“By all means,” Peter says, and Martin finishes his Appletini. He stands up and pulls his coat on before reaching into his pockets to try and find his wallet. “ Here.” Peter reaches into the breast pocket Martin already checked and hands him the wallet that wasn't there a moment ago.  
  
“Fun trick.”  
  
“Isn't it just?” Peter stands and takes up the rest of the space. “See you soon, Martin.”  
  
He shivers.  
  
Something about just being around him makes Martin feel a little nauseous. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Or both, with a dash of fear mixed in to have a really great time.  
  
Later that night, Martin lays on his back and stares at the tanks that are in his room. The greenbottle in particular presses against the glass closest to him. Martin turns on his side to watch her in return, and she really is strikingly beautiful.  
  
“I'm not lonely.” He insists. “I've got you, right?”  
  
He could swear that she nods back at him.

  
…

  
  
The next day he's in the same bar, staring at his phone again and waiting. Texting the owner of the metallica over when she could meet, or if she was even interested in that sort of thing, was an excellent way to make himself look busy while he nursed another Appletini.  
  
“And here I thought you were going to make me wait.” The phone actually nudges the rim of the glass this time, but Martin still manages to save it just in time, even if a bit of his Appletini spills out past the side.  
  
“You didn't walk in here-”  
  
“We're you watching the door?” He wasn't, but that doesn't mean he's wrong either. Peter turns his attention to the bartender who again, responds just a little too slowly. “Porto Flip, quick as you like.”  
Martin watched with growing disgust as the bartender picks up and egg and separates the whites before dumping it into a martini glass. He turns away to gag. “Not going to be trying it today?”  
  
“I'm good, thank you. You're-” He shakes his head. There are better things to do then to insult creepy apparating men. “I'm not lonely.”  
  
“This again?” Peter waits until there's ground nutmeg- honestly- honestly who would ever want to willingly put something like that into their body, even if it wasn't real- on to his drink to lift up the glass to his lips. “Of course you are. You think I bother all of your nonexistent friends like this? Co-works maybe is a better word.”  
  
Martin bristles at the insult, and even if it's true, to hear it spoken out loud by another person stings.  
  
“I just like being-”  
  
“Yes, alone, you've said. I feel like you're not understanding - so to say- the fundamental difference here, Martin.”  
  
Maybe he isn't. He knocks back his Appletini with a frown.  
  
“You're very exhausting to talk to.”  
  
“That's what Elias says too.” Peter pulls out a few bills and lays them on the counter. “Another-”  
  
“Pina Colada.” Martin cuts in. A little variety is nice every now and again, after all. That must be why he's talking to Peter in the first place.  
  
“Aren't you full of surprises.” It's spoken like another jab at him. Martin frowns. He's gotten somewhat tired of Elias treating him like he's an idiot too.  
  
“Why are you here- then- if you're just going to make fun of me.” He gets a straw to sip his drink out of it, and it's much hard to sound exasperated when you can't knock your glass back.  
  
“I'm trying to- to make you understand that. I'm- you're like a lighthouse, in the middles of perfect pitch black stillness, and there's nothing but you for miles.” Poetic and still just as creepy. “Look, okay. Bare basics. Just so we're on the same page.”  
  
“I think we're on the same page.”  
  
“Mmhm. See, you don't like being alone. I like being alone. I don't mind being alone, being alone is when you're the only breathing thing for miles and miles of endless ocean. And I'm not lonely for a moment out there, for hours and days and months and years sometimes. You- you're lonely in a crowded bar in one of the world's busiest cities,  Martin. It's divine.”  
  
That's certainly enough to stun him into complete silence.  
  
And the rest of the world too, it seems. The bar is eerily quiet, and when Martin makes the mistake of looking over Peter's shoulder at the rest of the room, it's empty. The musicians, the bartender, all of the patrons. Peter just smiles at him as Martin stumbles off of the barstool and presses up against one of the windows. The street is dark and empty.  
  
For a brief second, he remembers those two miserable weeks in his apartment with Jane Prentiss at his door, and he feels so very unbelievably cold.    
  
“Get it, Martin?”  
  
He nods slowly, turning back to look at the thing that apparently isn't human and Martin should never have believed it to be. He's made another stupid mistake. Just like always.  
  
“Oh, come now. Don't look so anguished. Come here. Drink your drink.” Martin does as he's told, slowly sitting back down on the barstool and pulling the cheap mug to his lips. The second the sweetness hits his lips the noise is back in an instant, overwhelmingly loud for a second. Martin blinks right at the bartender that wasn't there a second ago. “Just wanted to make you understand, is all.”  
  
“Oh,” Martin mumbles. “Thank you.”  
  
Thank you? Really? If he weren't in public, he'd physically beat himself up over it.  
  
“Any time.” Peter stands up and another twenty on the counter. “You should probably have another drink, Martin.”  
  
Later that night, Martin lays in bed, drunker then yesterday, then he has been in a while.  
  
“What was he even going for?” He's on his side again, staring at the greenbottle. “Who does something like that- it's a long con, right? It's got to be.” She's spinning a web right over the glass. Her enclosure is already covered in them, but he was expecting that. “I should have taken the desk job in Oxford. Being a secretary wouldn't have been that bad, right? It's basically the same thing- and no one would have cared. None of this- this-”  
  
He's not sure when he started crying.  
  
He gets up from the bed when he rubs his face dry and walks to her tank, dipping his fingers in. He's not sure what he's honestly expecting, maybe something to snap him back to reality. The greenbottle climbs up the walls and on to his hand with its gorgeous vibrant legs. Martin sits on the mattress and sighs, watching her climb all the way up his arm and onto his head.  
  
“At least you like me right?”  
  
This time he's sure she bobs her entire body in a nod.

  
…

  
His phone is in his pocket by the time Peter shows up.  
  
He settles for a passion fruit martini, and with it being a bigger glass, there's really no chance he'll be lucky three times in a row. And this time, with nothing to distract him, his eyes are firmly planted on the door.  
  
“Four Horsemen and Hell Follows, quick as you like.”  
  
Martin still jumps, despite himself.  
  
“That can't be a real drink.” And yet, the bartender pulls out three bottles of whiskey, a bottle of tequila and a bottle of everclear, whatever that is.  
  
“I'd say try it out, but I don't imagine you'd like this very much either. But then, no knowing until you've had it, right?” The second the shot glass is on the counter, Peter knocks it back, smile never really leaving his eyes.  
  
“I watched the door tonight.”  
  
“Jig is up then?” Peter orders another drink of the same stupid name and turns to look at Martin while the bartender slowly makes the order.  
  
“I didn't really think there was a jig- I mean- I know- I've read about you- you know that.”  
  
“Mmhm.” He slams the shot glass back as soon as it's on the counter and order again, another of the same.  
  
“I've been thinking. About us- us being on the same page and I'm just a little uh, confused? As to why it mattered too much to you that I got it?”  
  
“As soon as someone recognizes that they're lonely enough that they might just die, usually the first thing any sensible person would do would find someone to alleviate their loneliness with. If only for a while.”  
  
He's- Martin drinks his martini and stares at the bartender. When the vodka settles in his belly, he gives a nervous smile.  
  
“That sounds like a bad pick up line.” He chuckles a little.  
  
“It's your modern sensibilities. Usually, people don't give it a second thought.”  
  
“So- You've done this before then? Terrorized people in bars.”  
  
“This isn't terrorizing. You should meet the family.” He slams down another shot. Martin has a feeling that's something he should actively avoid. “I do make a habit of befriending archival assistants when I have the pleasure of meeting them.”  
  
“That's an even worse pick up line.”  
  
“Not a lot of reach on that one, sure, but I'm being serious. Your predecessor was very sweet until he met an unfortunate demise up in Russia.”  
  
“What- what was he doing in Russia-” Martin shakes his head. “Don't answer- I'm honestly- you know- less I know the better.”  
  
“This may be the only time when you're right about that. Besides, that management's changed anyway. Won't help any you knowing or not knowing.” Martin's sure he's about to order another drink, but instead, Peter turns to look at him completely. “So about that making you less lonely.”  
  
“You-” Martin looks at his glass. “You were serious about that-” He face feels warm. He shakes his head sharply. “I'm not inviting you home- don't even think about it- I know you think I'm stupid-”  
  
“I don't-”  
  
“Everyone does- but I'm not going home with you, I've already had one of you follow me home, and that was a singular experience that absolutely does not need repetition- and I'm not following you to whatever mansion you live in-”  
  
“It's a boat.”  
  
“Right, so you don't even have to pretend to hide the body, just dump me over the side so-”  
  
“I don't drown people.”  
  
“Or whatever you do, eat people or something-”  
  
“Not me-”  
  
“Great, so another thing to worry about. Either way. So. There. Options exhausted. You don't have to fake hit on me anymore.” Martin stands up and reaches for his wallet which is gone from the only pocket he ever keeps it in. “Very funny.”  
  
“Isn't it just? Sit down, Martin. Let me apologize.” Peter sets his wallet on the counter, and the room goes silent and empty again.  
  
“I- I really don't- appreciate. That.” He mumbles, and even that seems deafening.  
  
“I know. But it's better then doors and bugs isn't it?” Peter pats the wallet again. “If you leave now, you'll never make it back.”  
  
“Back- Back home?”  
  
“Back anywhere. You've read about the family patron, I'm sure.”  
  
Martin's throat is dry, and he's hard-pressed to remember more immediate danger.  
  
“Isolation.”  
  
“That's it. Look, none of this has to be unpleasant.”  
  
“Easy for you to say- you're not the one being threatened!”  
  
“I'm not-” Peter looks around slowly. “Alright, I suppose I am a little bit, but it's just my nature- I'm old. You don't really unlearn these things.”  
  
“Do you think that's going to work on me- I mean that's- that's rude, quite frankly.”  
  
“Sit down, Martin.”  
  
Martin sits down.  
  
The sounds are back with the people making them, and Martin can finally breathe.  
  
“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. That honestly wasn't the goal.”  
  
“Okay.” He mumbles.  
  
“Look, how about this. I buy you one more drink, and then you go home and think the proposition over?”  
  
“You were serious- You were serious?” Martin feels like he's on fire.  
  
“If you're interested, come to the bar. If you're not, just- well just don't. And I'll leave you alone, at least in a personal sense. Who knows about professional.”  
  
“I'm seriously not interested, alright- I don't know why you're even-”  
  
“Because we can both be honest about how much the Archivist pays attention to you.”  
  
Martin's throat burns almost immediately.  
  
“Fuck you.”    
  
“Oh, sore spot? You know, that wasn't even digging on my part, that's how Elias introduced you to me.”  
  
“Fuck him too.” Martin stands up and pulls his wallet out of Peter's hand. Or tries too. Peter's hand is on the pleather like a vice grip. Martin gives it one tug before Peter stands up to his full height and pulls it away from Martin's hand, and when Martin gives up, Peter puts the wallet back in his breast pocket for him.  
  
“I'll see you when I see you, Martin.”  
  
Later that night, he has the greenbottle on his chest. He moved the cobalt's tank into his room so he can watch her too. At some point, he pulls her out of the tank, and both of the tarantulas stare back at him from his chest. He recognizes that this must be a dream because neither of them are the type of species to be patient and wait for Martin to stop crying.  
  
His best friends are spiders, and this has to end.  
  
Jon or not, this has to end.

  
…

  
“Jon?”  
  
“Don't act so surprised.” Martin sits at his work desk and clutches the phone in a death grip.  
  
“I just didn't know that you knew my number.” There's a pause and something that sounds like a car rushing by. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Fine. Listen, I need you to look up a name for me- Are you writing this down?” Martin scrambles over his desk to find a clean piece of paper and almost falls out of his chair to find a pen.  
  
“Got it yeah- mmhm.”  
  
“Martin are you sure you're alright?” Martin's breath catches in his throat. An actual question of concern?  
  
“What was the name, Jon?”  
  
“Masterman- Honestly, Martin you sound a bit out of it.”  
  
“Nothing too unusual for me right?” He jokes and laughs and rushes the get the name right. “Two N's or just the one?”  
  
“Just the one. More out of it than usual.”  
  
“Do I? Oh- I've uh- huh- met someone, actually. At a bar. Well- not really I met them at the Institute first but-”  
  
“Don't talk to people you don't know Martin- I mean- especially if you met them there.” There's a loud horn, and Jon yells something at someone else. “Look- just- don't make stupid choices, okay? And when you're done with the research, text it to me as quick as you can okay?”  
  
“Yeah- Jon-”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
As always he thinks of a million things to say. Maybe if he were a braver person he'd say at least one of them.  
  
“Safe trip.”  
  
Jon turns the phone off without saying goodbye.

  
...

  
Martin likes Appletinis.  
  
So he orders one again and waits. He didn't even bother bringing his phone with him tonight. He waits for the bartender's movements to slow down and then Peter Lukas is there, staring right at him. Martin sips his drink and waits for whatever disgusting nightmare he's going to order today.  
  
“I'm flattered, really. Honestly.”  
  
He shouldn't be.  
  
“I just- reevaluated some life choices. I'd like to be less lonely. I think.” It'll at least help him think straight. Maybe. He hopes.  
  
“No one likes being lonely.” That's true enough. There's a lull in the short conversation, and Martin really hopes Peter isn't expecting him to be the one to ask for the particulars.  
  
“Are you ordering something?”  
  
“I think I'm fine for now. I can get you another if you're needing some liquid courage?” Martin shakes his head. “Good to know I'm not so ugly you need to get wasted just to stand my company.”  
  
“Was- was a real concern you had?”  
  
“No- it was a joke, Martin.” Of course, it was. “So- what's it going to be- know any hotels near by?”  
  
“I'm not going anywhere with you.” He's already said as much. “No offense but I'd rather Elias just shoot me if I had to pick one of you to murder me. I-is he- Is he one of you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Right.” Never hurts to get a confirmation.  
  
“So if you're not leaving with me- and I'm not leaving with you- where does that leave us?” Martin's face flushes an unfortunate shade of red, and he stares at the wall. “Didn't take you for the adventurous type.”  
  
He shrugs- not so much out of indifference but more out of general confusion. Maybe a little distress. There's always the chance to leave.  
  
“I just-” He doesn't need to tell Peter anything. This whole thing can be a fun adult tryst that never has to come up again. One night stand, just like a college student or a delusion office worker- this is technically a fourth date, right?  
  
“Just...?”    
  
“I've had a bad day.”  
  
“I can tell.”  
  
“Of course you can.” Martin takes a deep sigh slowly, really feels it.  
  
“I mean it- usually you're just- well, never just sad- comparative to other people, you're basically an expert.”  
  
“I'm pretty sure I'm not even the saddest out of my coworkers.”  
  
“I've not met your coworkers. But usually- I mean to say, something is really bothering you. You feel like-” Peter stands and gets just a little closer to him. “Cold.”  
  
“I-It was raining when I- When I got here. Not- Not that you would notice since you just teleport wherever.”  
  
“Mmhm.” Not even denying it anymore. “I can't describe it well- well- I can try at least.”  
  
“Like a lighthouse.”  
  
“In a sea of content faces.” He nods along quietly. “You're the type of person who could feed me- feed us- for years.”  
  
“I-” Martin opens his mouth and gives up. Feed? Us? It's not worth it. “Thank you? I think?”  
  
“If you weren't already wrapped in The Eye, I'd offer to marry you.”  
  
“You know what, on second thought, could I get that second drink please?” Peter laughs and puts money down on the counter. That bartender moves like he's in molasses. “What are you doing to him?”  
  
“Who?” There's a smirk Martin doesn't like. He shakes his head. “So where does it leave us then? I'm not allowed to go with you, and you refuse to go with me. So?”  
  
“So?” Martin actually reaches over the counter to pull the martini glass from the slow-moving hand of the bartender and drinks it as fast as he can without spilling. “Sorry.” He's honestly not sure if the poor man can even hear him.  
  
“So-” The world goes empty and still and quiet, and Martin feels sick and cold and so inhumanly alone. “I've never done something like this before- I have to admit it's very exciting.”  
  
This feels like the biggest mistake of his life.  
  
“I- I would have thought you'd- isn't this what your family does?”  
  
“Hm? No. Not usually. They're very traditional. Everyone except for my little dead brother and he's not going to rat me out.”  
  
“O-oh. Sorry for the loss.” Maybe? Martin feels vaguely like he's drowning.  
  
“You really are perfect aren't you? What doesn't he see in you?” Alright, that was- quite nice actually, but he really didn't want to admit it.  
  
“He's busy.”  
  
“In the states.”  
  
“Exactly!” Peter closes the distance and slowly takes the glass out of Martin's hand. He hadn't realized he was still holding it. For some stupid reason he expected heat to come off of Peter but of course, there isn't any. Of course not.  
  
“And all the other times?” Cold down to the bone.  
  
“I don't really want to talk about it.”  
  
“I'm just curious what excuse you come up with for yourself. So I won't press you on it later. If you want there to be a later.”  
  
“A- later? Wasn't- Isn't this a- one-”  
  
“It can be. It can be whatever you want, Martin.”  
  
“I get to choose then?”  
  
“Of course you do.” He almost sounds like he means it. “I'm not a heartless monster. Just the regular kind. Emotional heart included.”  
  
“Is the physical one there?” He jokes, and Peter laughs with him.  
  
“Why not find out, Martin?”  
  
Why not? He's already this far along. One night stand with a living nightmare in a publicish bar. Tim probably never had a night out like this. At least, he hopes he hasn't.  
  
“You'll let me leave?”  
  
“Of course I will.” Martin chances a look up at Peter's face.  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“For all that it's worth to you.”  
  
“C-Could you say the word? Words?”  
  
“I promise I'll let you leave Martin.” He thinks for a second before shaking his head.  
  
“To reality.” The smile on Peter's face could cut him to shreds.  
  
“I promise I'll let you go home, Martin Blackwood.” And then Peter Lukas cranes his head down to kiss him.  
  
When was the last time he was actually kissed? That one year of Uni maybe, when he got very drunk with some boy on his floor. It was all very much a blur of cheap tequila and scratchy sheets. If he thinks really hard he sort of remembers the guy's face looking like Jon's and he doesn't know if that's real or not- he's not even sure what to blame for not being able to remember.  
  
Peter Lukas kisses him like he's proving a point and he only technically is- Martin is pretty sure the point was proven yesterday. Martin is miserably aware of how clearly the point was made.  
  
Either way- Peter's lips are a little chapped and this close, Martin can smell the salt on him. The reek of the ocean. He's not sure if its sweat or something else. He tastes like gross alcohol- he must have had something else since last night- right? Did he? Peter pulls away, and Martin asks before he can stop himself, covering his burning face.  
  
“I make a habit of only eating on dates.” He smiles again- hungry.  
  
“I-is that what this is?”  
  
“Whatever you want.”  
  
Martin finds himself blinded by bad choices.  
  
“Kissing was nice.” He mumbles. Peter's fingers grip Martin's chin and force him to look at Peter's face.  
  
“Did you think of him when I did that?”  
  
“I-” He's too embarrassed to say what he thought about when Peter kissed him. “He wouldn't kiss me.”  
  
“You'd kiss him?” Martin is for the first time thrilled that they're alone. At least know there's no way this would ever get back to anyone. “Show him the way? Treat him better then he treats you?”  
  
“Does Elias know all of the details?” The alcohol in his stomach makes him bolder then he should be- but the second he remembers Elias, he pushes Peter away. “Is he- does- is he w-”  
  
“We all have ways of hiding from the Eye, Martin.” Peter doesn't get any closer, opting to lean on the bar instead. “I'd never show him what I get to hide from him. I don't think he'd be all that interested in the first place.”  
  
Subtle dig after subtle dig- that must be how he breaks people down. But then Elias isn't any better.  
  
“Can we go back to the kissing?” Anything to get both of them to shut up.  
  
“Alright.” And Peter swoops in again, cold skin only warming when Martin's touched it for a few seconds. It's almost a shock to the system when Martin's hand grabs the back of Peter's neck to keep him in place. “Needy.”  
  
So he's touch-starved and sad- he feels rather like they've established this already. Like at this point it's just rubbing salt in the wound.  
  
“You're into needy, right?”  
  
“Just trying to please?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
Something like that. Martin takes the opportunity to kiss him back for the first time, and it's an exceptionally odd experience, kissing a very cold taller man. He's the one to push his tongue into Peter's mouth this time, and that's even weirder. If his tongue tastes like bad alcohol, the rest of his mouth is just salt.  
  
“Easy- Easy.” Peter laughs. “Who's trying to swallow who?”  
  
“So the eating thing-”  
  
“I'm just kidding. Relax. I'm not him. You're allowed to fuck up with me. I'm just trying to have a good time. Let you know you're having a good time too. In case you forgot.”  
  
“Mm-” His head is starting to hurt from all of this. They kiss again- Peter leads and presses his body up against Martin's, reaching around and cupping his thighs and before Martin can open his mouth and argue, he's being hoisted up on the bar.  
  
“Want to get the jeans off yet?” Martin nods against his better judgment and Peter fiddles with them before yanking them down to his knees. “You have nice legs.  
  
“I really don't-” His voice cracks, and he's stuck with nowhere to hide now.  
  
“Nice because they're attached to you.” Peter pats his thigh, and Martin jumps at the cold contact. Peter's thumb rubs a line right under the leg of his boxers, and he shivers.  
  
“R-right.” It feels weird. More weird the void monster- something intrinsically- inherently wrong, all the way at the back of his skull- some old part of him yelling to get away from this person- this thing- fast as possible.  
  
“Nervous? First time?” It's not- but Martin just stares at him. His mouth won't move. “I'm just playing with you- I know it's not. Wouldn't that be fun? Way more sad if you were- waiting for him to finally respect you back and take it.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?”  
  
“Nothing really. It's more of a reflex than anything. That's just what we do. Find the raw nerve and prod at it until it sets on fire.”  
  
“That's a nasty habit.”  
  
“Only if it's working.”  
  
He looks past the pitch black window and shivers. It's almost calling him- and every second he spares it a glance the darkness just gets closer and closer.  
  
“This is a mistake,” Martin says and doesn't get up from the counter, or away from the monster. He doesn't even pull his jeans up.  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“And maybe we should stop?”  
  
Martin shakes his head and stares at the pitch black window.  
  
He gets off the bar and pulls his jeans back on.  
  
“Can you undo whatever this-this is?” In an instant, the sound is back, and Peter is staring at him with something that, if Martin were very wishful, he'd call confusion. A few girls walk past them out of the washroom and laugh when they his undone jeans. That's as good an idea as any. “Come on.” He grabs Peter's hand and pulls him towards the bathroom and once Peter's inside, Martin locks the door.  
  
“Oh I get it- You're into the getting caught part.”  
  
“I'm – I'm really not-”  
  
“Uh Huh.” Martin honestly doesn't know if he's teasing or not. At this point, he feels like it's pointless to even try and ask.  
  
“I just- felt like I was dying there- or like I was already dead-I don't-”  
  
“So that's not something you're interested in? Dying?”  
  
“No?” Martin shuffles to the singular sink and splashes water on his face.  
  
“Is there anything I can do to get you to calm down?” Peter's cold body presses up again Martin's back, and both of them stare at each other through the mirror. “Loosen up?” Martin shakes his head, and his eyes dip to stare at the sink. “Poor baby.”  
  
“That's weird.” He mumbles. Peter's hands reach around to push his jeans down again, this time paying a bit more attention to his thighs. “That's weird too.”  
  
“Not into pet names?”  
  
“Are you making a list?”  
  
“Oh, figured me out did you?” Martin feels lips on the back of his neck, and he can't help but shiver. “Not into dying, pet names, reminders about own existence. Into exhibition.”  
  
“God.” Martin groans just as Peter bites down on the soft skin. He doesn't feel him breathing, and at this point, it's barely a revelation. Peter seems to be obsessed with caressing his thighs of all things, thumb just barely nudging anything actually exciting with the strokes.  
  
“Not your god- still very flattering, Martin.”  
  
“Do you ever stop talking-” Finally cold fingers touch his slowly hardening cock through his underwear and Martin groans against his best intentions.  
  
“I'm just trying to be like him. With his nice smooth voice. Isn't that what's getting you there?”  
  
“You don't sound anything like him.”  More like Tim then anything else and that's not a mental picture he wanted anywhere near him. “How do you know what his voice sounds like?”  
  
“Just guessing- Gertrude Robinson had such a nice smooth voice. I think it's in the job description. And Elias played me one of his tapes.”  
  
Hearing that twists something in his gut that makes any arousal vanish immediately. He doesn't even know what part gets him the most.  
  
“Which tape?”  
  
“Do you listen to all of them? Steal some away and have wank at your desk when no one's around?”  
  
“No!” He twists around in Peter's arms and stares him straight in the face. “That's-” Disgusting, horrifying, disrespectful. “No! I wouldn't do that to him! You shouldn't- Shouldn't do that.”  
  
To his credit, Peter actually looks guilty for a second.  
  
“I don't really get anything from it. Not like Elias does.” Martin stares at the ugly floor tiles and tries his hardest to ignore the mounting pressure behind his eyes. “Whoops. Did I push too hard?” As if it wasn't obvious. “Sorry.”  
  
“D-Don't apologize if you don't mean it.”  
  
“Aw- do you mean it every time? I am sorry. I really didn't mean to hurt you.” At least not right now, Martin assumes. “Bad habit, like you said. I'll stop. I'll stop talking.”  
  
“For forever?”  
  
“At least until I can cheer you up a bit.” And when Martin doesn't push him away, Peter leans down to kiss him again. “What do you say?”  
  
“...” Martin nods again, face pressing into his chest. He's tired. Worse yet, he's starting to feel it settle into his bones, the way it always does when he's exceptionally sad.  
  
Peter- to his credit, again- keeps his promise. At least, for a while. He works Martin up to attention through his underwear. Martin's hand's dig into Peter's shoulders, but he feels pretty slack- slack enough to let Peter push him against the sink- till Martin feels the cold metal dig into his lower back. Martin closes his eyes and makes the mistake he's made countless times before and thinks about Jon. That gets him there.  
  
“If that's all it takes- can I get these off of you before you soak them through?” Martin nods again, and now his boxers are down at his knees. His dick is hard and starting to drip, and it's all at the thought of-  
  
“What are you doing?” It's not every day a man drops to his knees for him. That warms him up a little more- despite himself.  
  
“Sucking you off?”  
  
“R-Right. Sorry.”  
  
“No worries.” And then in an instant, Peter's mouth envelopes him. All of him, at once. It's impressive and- only barely warmer than the rest of him, but something must get his wires crossed to keep him hard.  
  
Peter pulls off to give him a few singular licks along the base before pulling all of him back into his mouth, and Martin is something along the lines of enraptured. It must have been longer then he thought.  
  
“C-Can I pull your hair?” A muffled please is all the excuse he needs. Peter's hair is a little coarse and a little too short to get a full grip on but Martin can run his fingers through it- tug on it- and all of it gets him appreciative moans. The vibrations feel exceptionally nice. His pinky brushes the back of Peter's ear for another round of happy sounds and Martin giggles in spite of himself.  
  
Imagine explaining this to anyone?  
  
Maybe he'll even have to give a statement.  
  
The thought of that cracks him up entirely, and he's left desperately apologizing to Peter in a moment. The corner's of Peter's mouth lift up and again, Martin is amazed, and again, another series of giggles follows.  
  
Is this what delirium feels like?

Hysteria?

Once Martin calms down, he can finally appreciate the one good thing going for him in this moment, and that's the fact that Peter seemingly really doesn't need to breath. And as such, shows no signs of stopping. His head bobs and Martin closes his eyes. He doesn't even need to imagine Jon this time- at least not fully. Just his eyes.  
  
It barely counts.  
  
His hands grip a little tighter in Peter's hair when sharp teeth just barely graze the underside of him and Martin groans, hips jutting forward for a second. He can feel himself brush against the back of Peter's throat and that's so much more thrilling then it has any right being. Peter groans again, low and deep and very, very exciting.  
  
If that's what he's into- Martin's obviously not going to deny him.  
  
He grips Peter's hair as much as he can and thrusts his hips forward till Peter's face is flush against his stomach. He's finally looking a little messier- lack of gag reflex or otherwise but there's just a minuscule flush on his cheeks. The back of his throat is probably the warmest part of him, and Martin rolls his hips against it.  
  
“That's really nice.” He stares down at him- and somehow the corner's of Peter's lips are still up turned- the smile reaches all the way up to his eyes. It's creepy, but apparently, that's what's doing it for him today. Martin brushes his thumb over Peter's brow, pushing the tiny bit of hair out of his face. He returns to his thrusting a second later and is treated to another moan.  
  
Martin feels it all the way to his spine, and his toes curl in his trainers. If he pays attention, he thinks he can hear people just outside the door. Peter's teeth graze him again, right at the base and Martin sighs. One more look at Peter's eyes pushes him over the edge and he comes with a barely contained shout.  
  
Peter swallows. Doesn't even complain about it and in fact, doesn't move away from him until Martin is completely soft in his mouth. It makes him shiver again, but he takes a step back, pulling his pants up.  
  
Peter slowly stands up and brushes his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
“Are you going to taste like that in two days?”  
  
“Would you like to find out?” It's hot but thinking about it kind of ruins the idea.  
  
“Mm- Do I-” He turns back and makes a gesture at Peter's crotch. He doesn't seem hard. Or stained. “Do you want me to-”  
  
“I'm great, thanks for the offer. Maybe next time. If you're interested in a next time.”  
  
Martin doesn't know what he's interested in anymore. He feels a bit like a brand new man. The type of man that accepts blowjobs from void monsters in public bathrooms. Very liberating. Too liberating.  
  
“Why do I feel-”  
  
“Less awful? I'm honored. Like I said- always helps to find someone to be less lonely with.”  
  
“No- that's not- what did you do?”  
  
Peter just smiles at gives him a patronizing pat on the head before reaching past him to unlock the bathroom door and take his usual seat at the bar. Martin follows after him.  
  
“Appletini, please.” The bartender stares at him for a second before moving at a snails pace for the drinks.  
  
“You don't have to.” He sits down slowly.  
  
“I don't mind. You were right- I really don't use money for much of anything anymore. Treating cute boys is about all it's good for.” Martin's pretty sure it would be faster if he got up, walked all the way around and made the drink himself but he's waits.  
  
“Did you feed off of me?'  
  
“Literally? Because-”  
  
“No!” He shakes his head, face red again like that's the most scandalous thing that's happened tonight. “I don't feel like I'm- falling apart quite so much.”  
  
“Probably just the afterglow.” Probably. Probably not, who's he kidding- but at this point there's no need to push his luck. Be happy with what he has. Peter's the one who reaches for the drink before it's done this time and he slides it into Martin's hand. “So- Can I get a performance review?”  
  
“A-” Martin laughs a little. “Can't complain.”  
  
“At all? Should I be worried? I wouldn't want to set an unfair standard.” Martin drinks his Appletini. Peter smiles and the world blinks silent for a moment. But only for a moment. Martin doesn't ask. Peter sighs. “Have to run. Family needs me.”  
  
“No phones then?”  
  
“Why both with cell plans when you can just ruin reality for a second.”  
  
“Of course.” Martin swallows. “If I come to the bar tomorrow..”  
  
“Thrilled that you want to see me again, really, I am, elated even, that you're that enamored with me- but I think I'm going to be on a trip for a few days. Maybe a week or two.”  
  
“Oh.” Of course. There's reality, crashing down around him. He must have planned it like this. Bring him up, just to knock him back down. “Right.”  
  
“Hey, sunshine- chin up. I can get a phone if you like. You can call me if you're feeling particularly lonely.”  
  
“Do you even know how to use a phone?”  
  
“How hard can it be to figure out. Elias will get it to you. You're not mad at me are you?”  
  
“Just- No. It's my own fault.”  
  
Peter just smiles.  
  
“Safe trip.”  
  
“I'll miss you, Martin.”  
  
He's the one left staring at an empty seat two seconds later.  
  
Later that night, the spiders stay in their cages, and Martin stares at his phone and doesn't sleep until the sun comes up. When he wakes up at four in the afternoon, there's a voice message from the office and a single text and picture from a number he doesn't know. The picture- an old, rusted looking ship with a name Martin can't make out.

The text reads, "I have killed zero people on this boat."

Martin smiles and tries not to think about the lack of connection out on the water.

**Author's Note:**

> comments always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> come [yell at me](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> this was supposed to be casual under a thousand word bathroom sex what happened


End file.
